


Pose

by SadBeautifulTragic08



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-22 05:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30033924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadBeautifulTragic08/pseuds/SadBeautifulTragic08
Summary: When Elliot finds Olivia's old camera they finish off the role and get it developed. Nothing could have prepared them for the nightmarish can of worms the photos are going to dig up. Set in the future, sometime in Season 23.
Relationships: Olivia Benson/Elliot Stabler
Comments: 11
Kudos: 33





	1. Smile

**Author's Note:**

> This is something my twisted mind came up with upon waking up in the morning. Mature Content.  
> Triggers for:  
> \- language  
> \- violence  
> \- sexual assault
> 
> Betaed by my wonderful friend Amy, who encouraged me to write this.

“I wasn’t aware I had so much clutter.” She’s been in this apartment for the past eight, almost nine years and while most of her cabinets are meticulously organized these days, this dresser obviously contains her drawer of shame. The last time she’s taken a proper look at it must have been… probably never, Olivia decides when she can’t recall a single instance. What she does remember is that this drawer is usually only opened to drop some useless item in there.

Matches, a lighter. A miniature notepad. A pair of now rusty nail scissors?

“You wanna throw all of this out?” His arms snake around her body from behind, crossing just below her breasts as he places a chaste kiss into her hair, right above her ear. She leans back and melds into his chest, unable to keep the smile that spreads off her features as she shrugs. Elliot’s warmth seeps into her skin and she allows a small, content sigh to escape at the contact.

She scans the contents of the drawer, deciding she hardly needs any of it. Last time she checked she had a healthy supply of matches in the kitchen, a notepad on the breakfast bar. She’s at the age where she needs grocery lists. From what she can tell there is nothing of importance in there.

“Probably,” she agrees, picking up a light blue pacifier that instantly conjures up a mental image of Noah sucking on it with relish, like this nipple made of silicone was all he needed to be content and peaceful. “Maybe not all of it,” she thinks out loud.

“Ah, the baby keepsakes,” he mumbles knowingly, his thumb swiping upwards against the underside of her left breast. In combination with his body pressed closely to hers and his breath hitting the back of her ear it creates a thrillling excitement that then sends a rush right between her legs. “Kathy had entire boxes of stuff for each of the kids,” he explains innocently while his hand moves further up, lavishly closing around her flesh that produces a puckered nipple. Olivia’s breathing becomes a shallow thing.

“Let me outline this: you want to paint this wall and have the new furniture fixed up by tonight, correct?”

“Sounds about right,” comes his agreement, accompanied by a gentle, teasing squeeze.

“We’re talking about furniture you haven’t even picked up yet, Elliot,” she reminds him before she turns despite the protest of his arms, trying to keep her exactly how she is. “Plus I gotta pick Noah up from Bentley’s in fifteen.”

“So?” He scrunches eyes, his brows knit. “I don’t understand the problem.”

Obviously, neither does his dick, because she can feel it bulge against her. The part of her that is starting to rediscover forgotten facets of her womanhood wants this to happen. Unfortunately there are other parts that momentarily prohibit it.

“Of course you don’t,” she rolls her eyes at him and places a kiss on his lips.

It’s been four months now, and his unfading appetite for her is flattering in a way. They took this slow. There was no dating, not the dance she was used to with other men. There was no need for it because they’ve laid all the groundwork a long time ago. They skipped romantic dinners at overpriced restaurants for accounting for the past and catching up on everything they have missed out on in each others' lives. It’s been countless conversations until they faced up to truths they have tried everything to conceal and deny when they were still partners. Eventually they spoke about feelings. Feelings they had back then. Feelings that lingered. Feelings that were still there. Elliot had said it first.

_“I was in love with you, Liv. I was in love with you, and I’d long fallen out of love with Kathy, and I couldn’t do a damned thing about it because telling anyone? I couldn’t walk out on my wife with a new baby.”_

_“So, you walked out on me the first chance you got.”_

_“Yeah. It wasn’t as simple as it sounds, but yeah.”_

When all of it was out in the open it took weeks until she first kissed him, then months until they took the next step. They haven’t defined what they have. Somehow it doesn’t feel like they need to. Things fall into place and it feels natural. It feels right.

“Move. Let’s tidy out this dresser.”

“I can be quick.” Elliot wiggles his brows in what’s probably a last attempt at changing her mind. “Show this thing a good time before you throw it out.”

Inwardly, Olivia winces. The fifteen minutes may be plenty for him but her menopausal self isn’t ready for quickies. Not that she’s opposed to them in general, she’d happily have a go at it if she didn’t have to deal with dryness and consequent discomfort during sex. Long story short, she’s trying to find the right time to tell him she can’t jump into things without some basic preparation.

“Right,” she gushes, seeing his eyes light up, thinking she’s seriously considering it. “So it can bust right under my ass, I can’t imagine anything better. Now move,” she tells him with amusement twinkling in her eyes, lightly pushing at his chest, wondering when he’ll start questioning her avoidance when it comes to spontaneous sex.

When he lets go of her, he also lets go of the playfulness, instead he looks at her thoughtfully.

“Liv?”

Maybe the time’s up much quicker than she has anticipated.

“Yeah?”

“Is something wrong? I mean, if you don’t want to, that’s totally fine, you know that. You know I’d never question that,” he starts, and they are both acutely aware that he is questioning it. “I mean, I’d never…”

“Elliot, it’s not,” she shakes her head, trying to find the right words, but at this point she has maybe ten minutes left, and her sexual difficulties aren’t something she wants to blurt out. “Nothing is wrong per se,” she assures him. “We’ll talk about this later. Tonight.”

“But there’s something,” he concludes, and something flashes in his eyes, making Olivia wonder if maybe he’s been concerned about her putting him off for a bit. He also sounds like he’s dreading whatever is to come because in his mind something can only be a bad thing. Ultimately she feels a bit more nervous than she originally did.

“There’s something. It’s no biggie, Stabler. Lighten up,” Olivia chuckles, trying to hide her own insecurities. She hopes it will ring true. The conversation in itself will be awkward, she’s afraid. If they had been together for years it would be easier. However, she hopes it won’t be some sort of turn off. She’d hate to lose these small moments that make her feel so desirable and wanted. It’s a hormonal problem she hasn’t yet found an ironclad solution to.

When Elliot visibly tries to shake off his worry she smiles and kisses him. The nervousness is shoved into the backseat because this--he--feels like home.

“I should probably get going. Can you finish this? I don’t think there’s anything in there that’s worth holding on to,” she says but lets the pacifier vanish in the back pocket of her jeans. “Just toss it in the garbage.”

“Copy that,” he agrees.

“I’ll bring dinner,” she says as she saunters off towards the coat rack, grabbing one of the various jackets. “Don’t ruin my wall.”

“How about you paint it, Miss I-dropped-my-coffee?” He challenges and she ducks her head a little, trying to hide her mischievous grin.

“Point taken.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He joins her in the bedroom as she’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, laptop on the comforter before her.

“Are you almost finished?”

“Just about,” she looks up at him, casting a smile at him as she notices something in his hand. A black case maybe.

“What’s that?” She hits enter, closes the window and shuts the lid of the macbook as he unzips the find and produces her old camera, the kind you needed to put a film in. In fact, old doesn’t even begin to describe the Canon. It’s ancient. Momentarily she wonders if they still sell those in electronic stores. Polaroid cameras have a bit of a revival with teenagers lately.

“There’s a film in it, I didn't want to toss it out. Four pictures left on it, too.”

“I didn’t know I still had it,” Olivia says, cocking her head, wondering when she’s last seen it. Obviously it survived the move from her old apartment into this new place she first shared with Brian. Probably he had packed it. Or she did, not paying much attention to what she kept and what she got rid of. She hadn’t held on to a lot then. Anything that might have been touched by Lewis never made it past the threshold. Her belongings after had fit into eight boxes, and that included her entire wardrobe. “Does it still work?”

“Well, I didn’t waste a picture but the display lit up once I changed the batteries. Do you know when you last used it or what’s on it?”

She shrugs. “I have no clue. Fifteen years? Might as well be twenty,” she scoffs. “If you’d have it developed, the pictures probably wouldn’t come out anyway.”

“You never know,” he objects gently and turns it on, giving her a brilliant smile as he raises the camera to his eye.

“Smile,” he tells her but she turns her head away, almost coyly so, and holds up a hand.

“El, don’t. Put that away.”

“Come on, what’s the matter,” he coaxes, dropping the camera a bit. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

“About what?” She laughs.

“If it still works. Or the photos on it. I wouldn’t want to waste four pictures, Liv. Come on. For me.”

She contemplates this for a moment, cocking her head, her big brown eyes directed at him as he raises the camera again and *click*. She’s startled by how unexpectedly he put his finger on the shutter button. The flash has her seeing stars for a couple of seconds. She raises one brow at him and again *click*.

“Elliot,” she whines as he takes a step closer. She’s never really been fond of having her picture taken, unless it’s silly selfies with Noah. He sticks out his tongue and it’s so immature but it also breaks through the barrier of embarrassment she feels as she chuckles. *Click.*

He smiles cockily and licks his tongue as he walks two steps closer. “See, that’s not too bad, is it?”

“Unnecessary is what it is,” she tells him as he puts one knee onto the bed. Trying to escape another shot she falls backwards the moment she thinks he’s going to take the picture, but she miscalculates and he pushes the button when she’s sprawled out on the mattress with a pout on her face.

“You’re sexy.” His voice is gravel.

Subconsciously she grabs the collar of her shirt, tugging it up an inch as her body stiffens. He drops the camera then, instantly sensing that he’s said something that’s still hard to hear, hard to accept as the full, honest-to-God truth.

“You are,” he reinforces, surprising her. Usually he’d backtrack. Apologize. “You are so fucking sexy to me, Olivia Benson. And I won’t accept any objections on the matter.”

She swallows and her knuckles relax around the fabric of her night shirt. “Okay,” she says. She wants to believe it. She almost does when it comes from him. It takes getting used to. The compliments, the way he looks at her, the way she thinks he sees her.

Elliot’s the first sexual partner she’s ready to open up to after what happened with Lewis, however bumpy the process is. He has seen her naked while Brian and Ed haven't. It took her a lot of emotional effort to get there. To undress in front of him, let him see her. All of her.

She’d expected him to flinch. To look at her differently. Look at her like a victim or like she’s damaged goods. Like she’s something pitiful. And he had looked at her, his eyes moving across her body, taking in every mark, every scar, every pound she’s put on in recent years. With a matter-of-factfulness she’s never mustered before she pointed out the roadmap of her ordeal, stating ‘cigarette’ or ‘my house key.’

He’d paled, struggling to keep his emotions under control, but of course she saw the horror flit over his features, telling her it was much worse than what he had imagined. At some point he simply said ‘okay’, then pulled her into his arms. He didn’t profess how she was still beautiful, or that the scars didn’t matter, because he knows that yes, they matter. They matter to her. She’s learned to live with them but that doesn’t mean they don’t bother her when she looks at herself. They matter and he lets them matter. And yet she understands that he loves her with them as much as he would without them. He doesn’t avoid looking at them, touching them. He’s not paying extra attention to them, either. Between the two of them, he doesn’t allow them to take up any space and she’s grateful for it because it lets her breathe. Maybe she only imagined it but with Cassidy it felt like he tried to reassure her all the time while Tucker avoided looking at the scars even when they were right there in front of him, like just laying his eyes on them could set her off like an unpredictable firecracker. She figured it should have been easier, he’d seen every single mark Lewis had left on her body in her case file. He’d known every sordid detail she'd disclosed of what the bastard had done to her. And yet it didn’t feel like he wanted to be let in, regardless of how wary she’d been about it.

Elliot hadn’t coddled her like Cassidy did, but neither did he act like he didn’t know about every dehumanizing act of cruelty Lewis had done to her physically and emotionally. With him it felt like she was given a safe space, a space where he accepted whatever she had to offer. For the first time she was in a relationship that didn’t make her feel alien.

The camera is next to her now, out of his grasp and she worries her bottom lip for a few seconds while he scrutinizes her, maybe wondering if she really accepts his words as reality so easily. She rolls it around in her mind a little, that she is sexy, and although still hard to believe, she knows he means this. She sees it in the way he looks at her, kisses her, touches her. He’s never been even remotely cautious in the way he learned her, her body. It’s not about just looks either, she thinks, because he mentions such mundane things like how her voice has deepened in recent years, or how her eyes darken when she’s responsive to him. There’s more but she can’t think of it at the top of her head.

“Hey,” he says softly and his pupils get small as he focuses on her lips that tingle from the brief assault of her teeth. Instead of saying anything back she reaches up and cups his cheek, brushing her thumb across his skin that’s covered in a five o’clock shadow.

“You going home tonight?” Her voice is thick with emotion, hoping he’ll stay and instill his declaration.

“Do you want me to?” Her eyes close. He’s leaving it up to her and she’s never entirely sure he doesn’t just stay over for her sake.

“What do you want,” she says quietly.

“What do I want?” He asks and nods his head at her when her eyes flutter open. “Yeah, I’d like to stay.”

She feels needy, and maybe it puts him in a predicament, but she’s relieved that he won’t leave. He won’t prod her or ask if she’s okay, he knows better than that, but she’s learning to communicate with him.

“I’m not trying to be difficult when you say things like that,” she offers quietly, sounding like she’s stifling emotions.

For a moment he seems to hesitate squinting his eyes at her, as if gauging what has triggered this reaction.

“I know that. And I get why you’re hesitant to believe it, Liv.” That’s all. He doesn’t make an effort to convince her further because he knows her. Pushing her will do the exact opposite.

She exhales a little heavier than intended and lets her hand drop to his shoulder. “You might change your mind about that.”

“I don’t see how,” he retorts, but her cheeks heat underneath his gaze. She moves and he makes space for her to sit up, looking at her suspiciously before it dawns on him. “Is this about earlier? The _something_?”

“Yeah, something,” she agrees candidly, as he gives her some more space for the conversation that makes her worried that once it’s created, her words will only deepen the rift.

“Look, if I come on too strong sometimes, you gotta tell me, Liv. I mean, I thought I was catching on but then I wasn’t so sure because it felt like mixed signals once or twice and…”

“El.” She attaches her fingertips to his mouth, silencing him. “It’s not you. You didn’t do anything wrong.” It's clear that he's been worried about her behavior for a little while. She hates that he thought he might have done something wrong.

“No?” He seems thoroughly surprised by this.

“No,” she states simply. “Actually, mixed signals hits the nail on the head.” She looks at the mattress between them and scratches the side of her neck before she looks back up. “It’s not that I didn’t want to today. It’s just that erm…” She blows out a breath, her heart thumping faster. “I’m in menopause and things are literally dried up. I’m taking something for it and when you’re here I’m prepping accordingly but I just can’t _that_ spontaneously.”

For a moment he just looks at her and she sees the moment it clicks for him. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” he says and nods a few times. “And you didn’t tell me that because…”

“We’re fresh, El. I don’t know, I thought…” Olivia shrugs, realizing she isn’t sure what exactly she was thinking. A lot of things. “I mean, it’s the opposite of sexy. And I’m only just getting used to it because this hasn’t been an issue for me before. I thought maybe you noticed when we were intimate that I didn’t really…,” She decides not to beat around the bush. “...get wet.”

“Of course I’ve noticed, Liv. But to be honest, I didn’t know any different when it comes to you. I didn’t want to assume it wasn’t normal and risk offending you.”

She nods as she listens, starting to grow pensive. He had no way of knowing that three, four years ago she self-lubricated just fine when aroused, or that now she was using vaseline and special creams to tolerate penetration at all. He’s scooting over then, pulling her against his body and she releases a shaky breath she wasn’t aware of holding.

“First of all? I don’t ever want to hear how it’s less sexy or not sexy. Okay?” He doesn’t wait until she agrees. “And second? This is the stuff we need to talk about, Liv. More than anything else, probably. It obviously made you insecure. I hate to think that you were even a tiny bit uncomfortable ever when we were together because it’s so unnecessary.”

He’s got a point. Who would have thought that he’d ever be the more reasonable out of the two of them.

Then: “Were you? Uncomfortable?”

It never hurt per se, but of course, depending on the time between applying the cream and the sex it was more or less pleasurable. She knows her silence speaks volumes as it drags on but instead of chastising her, Elliot kisses her hair, rubs her back affectionately.

“First thing tomorrow? We’re gonna purchase a ton of lubricant.”

The chuckle that rips from her throat is watery. She feels embarassed and stupid because he’s taking this a lot better than she had expected. It’s weird that they didn’t have a fight yet. In fact she expected this to be their first for sure. How was she to know he wouldn’t start talking about how she obviously has trust issues? Not that he’d be entirely wrong. She’s had them her entire life, although not with him. This was more about feeling humiliation over the changes that come for her with age.

“Sounds good,” she says in agreement, hoping he’s missed how nasal she sounds.

“And we’re gonna have that film developed. There are no ex-boyfriends on there, right?”

“God, I hope not.”

“Good. Then we should be in the clear.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Liv reaches Amanda’s desk just as she hangs up the phone, informing them the M.E. has finished the report on their latest deceased victim. It’s taken long enough, the bodies seem to be piling up at the morgue lately.

“I’d say it can wait until morning,” the Captain says wearily. They’ve all started early and left late for the past three days. Everyone’s tired. Everyone’s dejected, thinking the very same thing. An eleven year old girl shouldn’t wind up sexually assaulted and dead. “Liza was ten weeks pregnant.”

Fin curses underneath his breath, Amanda covers her mouth with her hand, sighs, shakes her head. It’s four-thirty and it looks like neither of them is going to get home any earlier today than they did yesterday.

“I just got a call from a guy at a photoshop. He developed a film that he finds ‘suspicious’.”

“Wonderful,” Olivia says heavily. “Wanna split?” She rarely has them handle cases individually but it sounds like they can handle it.

“Sure. You take photo guy?” Fin asks, jumping up from his chair like a jack-in-the-box.

“Yeah, at least he didn’t sound so sure if he reported a crime or a couple living out some strange kink. Our luck it’s the latter.”

“Please, let it be. We don’t need another case,” Olivia says exasperatedly. “I know it’s not a great time but I’ll head out for the day. I can’t miss the fourth dinner in a row with Noah. Keep me updated, though.” There’s an air of authority despite the friendship that has formed between them in recent years.

“Got’cha,” Rollins agrees as she, too, rises and gathers her things. “Enjoy dinner.”

“Thanks, Amanda. And whatever it is? The investigation can wait until morning, okay?”

“We’ll see about that,” the blonde mumbles, figuring their chances are fifty-fifty. The instances of unjustified calls are few and far in between. She prays this one will give them a lucky break and allow her too, to be home for dinner with the kids. At the same time she hopes it’s something because driving out there for nothing will annoy the hell out of her, especially after this shitty week.

In the car she blasts the radio at an almost full volume, singing along to Fleetwood Mac. It’s one of the perks of riding without Fin. If she has to work, she might as well make the best of it.

She finds a parking space right around the block, reaching the store in less than two minutes. A bell announces her arrival. The store is empty, bar one customer that’s headed out. Walking towards the counter, Amanda produces her badge, identifying herself as police to the guy behind the counter. If she’d have to guess he’s in his mid-thirties with no fashion sense whatsoever. His vanilla-yellow shirt is about two sizes too big for his slim build, the mauve tie awfully mismatched.

“Detective Amanda Rollins, SVU, I believe we talked earlier?”

“Oh, that was quick. Yes.” He scrambles backwards, grabbing a typical envelope holding photographs. “As I said on the phone, maybe it’s nothing, I mean, people are into all sorts of things, right? Nothing we haven’t seen before,” the guy, his name tag says Ronny, throws in, half laughing, half snorting as he slides the photographs in question over the counter towards her. “All kinds of sexual stuff, you know? Nudes. Feet, bondage. Haven’t seen something like this yet, tho, so I figured, better be safe than sorry, right?” He offers freely.

“That sounds reasonable,” Amanda says politely, picking the envelope up, tearing open the gummy seal.

“Guy said the film was his girlfriend’s. Old camera they’ve found or somethin’. It’s become a rare thing, right? People coming in to develop from film. They all got digital cameras these days, or come with their cell phones. Quick business.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Amanda agrees, retrieving the packet from the envelope. Opening the flap, she pulls out the stack of photographs. It’s exactly three seconds until she realizes what she sees, where she’s seen this before. The (layout of the) room. The pattern of the injuries inflicted on a female body. The details CSU has secured down to the full ashtray on the nightstand, the grey pillow that’s askew beneath her head. The one thing that stands out as different is the bedding that had been missing from the scene.

Amanda recoils, fights to stay in control as Ronny keeps talking, but not a single word registers as she’s sliding the pictures back into the packet without browsing through them. Her stomach lurches, and there’s only so much she can do to swallow the bile that’s rising in her throat.

She’s seen every single image that was taken during the rape kit, every burn, cut, every bruise, however small, blown up in great detail for the jury during the trial. It was evidence, the kind Amanda was used to after years of being a cop. This is crucially different. This is not the aftermath of her former fellow detective, now her Captain, more so her _friend,_ being kidnapped and tortured. This is Olivia helpless on her own bed, hands tied behind her back, pants and underwear pulled down to her ankles, shirt and bra pushed up, breasts exposed, being tortured. Her battered skin stood out in crass, bright contrast against the darkness the rest of the room was bathed in.

If this was any other person, Amanda would stoically look at the photographs, at the evidence. Now she can’t stomach to flip through them at all, not here and now. The envelope that seemed almost weightless when she first picked up now feels like dead weight in her trembling hands.

“Thanks. If we have any more questions, we’ll be in touch,” Amanda manages with a curt nod. Her impassive face crumbles before she has fully pivoted, her eyes wide and hazy. She makes it out the door, turns left, keeps moving and moving. Until she reaches the car. Slides in. Tosses the envelope on the passenger seat.

She tries to take a breath, just one, but although her body seems to function mechanically, it doesn’t feel like oxygen is reaching her lungs. Clutching her hand to her face, Amanda expels a staccato exhale as the other clenches into a fist so hard, her nails painfully dig into her palm.

 _Get a grip, Amanda. Think_ , she urges her panicky mind. Squeezing her eyes shut she wills herself to think rationally. When she opens them the image she’s just looked at is still the only thing she can see clearly and although she knows what this was, who this was. She’s bargaining like there’s a shred of the possibility she’s wrong.

_Maybe I’m mistaken. Maybe this isn’t her. God, please don’t let it be her._

But it is. She’d recognize those distinct burn marks among a hundred, a thousand others, the bed, the room, the black clothes--she didn’t need any of it to corroborate the obvious.

She hadn't needed to see the tear-stained face, the hollowness in those dark brown, only semi-lucid eyes to know it was in fact Olivia.

There’s a slump in her shoulders when she allows the tears to fall, partly in shock, partly from feeling trapped in an impossible situation. What is she supposed to do? She’s seen one picture. One. Most likely there are more and she can't bring herself to check. If she thought she had been heartbroken for Olivia then, she doesn’t know what to call this. It’s completely beyond comparison, beyond what can be put into words. Despite being in the car the smell of burnt hair and flesh taints the air. It’s chilling to the bone, just like it was when they stood in her demolished apartment with evidence for days but no Olivia. All they had were pieces of her. Blood. Saliva. Sweat. Urine.

Just when she thinks the heightened emotions are starting to turn into numbness, her stomach rebels violently. She’s going to be sick, there’s no way around it, so instead of trying to fight her clenching stomach she wrenches open the car door and sticks her torso out.

She vomits in heaps until she’s only dry-heaving, wishing Kat hadn’t insisted on a proper lunch a couple of hours ago. Carelessly she wipes her mouth with the sleeve of her blazer, drawing in a few shaky breaths as she fumbles for the key, jabbing it into the ignition. Warily she glances at the envelope on the passenger seat, like it’s going to come at her any second. She still doesn’t know what to do with this although she itches to toss it in the Hudson or even better, start an impromptu bonfire and burn it to ashes, pretend these pictures never existed.

It’s not her place, though. No matter the damage these photographs are going to do, it’s not her damage to prevent, not her decision to make what Olivia gets or does not get to see. Besides, there’s no way to cover this up anyway. The pictures are gone from the store, picked up by police. This will raise suspicion for everyone involved the moment Elliot wants to pick them up. The way Ronny’s been rambling, he couldn’t appease Stabler to save his life.

Trying to think, Amanda drums her open hands against the steering wheel, the thumping growing more forceful as the minutes tick by. She has no solution, no idea how to go about this. All she knows is that she can’t shoulder this burden on her own, that if she keeps this to herself for much longer, she’s going to go insane. So, she does the one thing she can actually think of and pulls out her phone, closing her eyes as the familiar voice permeates.

“What’s up, Amanda? Kink or case?”

“We got a problem,” she states stoically. “Meet me at my place? Nineish?”

“What is it?” He’s serious now, too, and although she wants to give him something, she can’t get the words out.

“Fin, can you meet me later, yes or no?”

“Course,” he states, like any other answer is out of the question. Before he can ask again she hangs up, swallows, draws in one more shaky breath. She’s going to go home, have dinner with her girls, tuck them in and read to them before pouring herself a stiff drink and re-entering Olivia’s personal hell, only to find out what else they are dealing with. She’ll shower, as if water and soap can give her a sense of cleanliness after bathing in Lewis’ sadistic perversion and Olivia’s sheer terror, before telling Fin about the pictures. She won’t let him see them. He doesn’t have to do it to himself. More than that Amanda feels the fierce urge to protect Olivia, shield her from another set of eyes besides her own.

She just needs to talk. Figure out what to do, what the next step should be. Turning the key in the ignition, the engine roars to life. The entire way home, Amanda is on autopilot, wishing the images that claw at her consciousness away. She is acutely aware of how little she knew or understood of what Olivia meant when she once told her: “ _You have no idea what utter terror is_.”

She’d thought she knew, even when she had apologized. She’d thought…

But seeing Liv’s place in shambles, realizing she’s been kidnapped? That hadn’t been enough. Finding her fragile, her system shot by hard liquor and drugs? Nope. Hearing her detailed recount spanning over four days of her captivity? Amanda shakes her head furiously, angry at herself, at how blind she had been, at the goddamn audacity she had just because what? She’d experienced trauma, too?

Goddamn, Olivia was right. She didn’t know what utter terror was. Not until today, looking at those hopeless, almost jet-black eyes.


	2. Doom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I was so glad that the first installment of Pose was so well received. Thank you for your encouraging comments and kudos. Here we go with Chapter 2. Amy, thank you for your continuous support, feedback and ideas. There’s no better beta out there, I’m sure.   
> Once again, heed the rating. 
> 
> Trigger warning for:   
> \- violence  
> \- language  
> \- sexual assault  
> \- rape

The breath hitting Amanda’s face feels like a little flutter, yet it’s the most comforting thing she can think of. Her arm is wrapped around Billie’s small frame, playing with the hair-ends of her daughter’s blonde locks. The kids don’t usually sleep in her bed but tonight she needs this, her girls, their proximity, the innocence they exude. She had rocked her youngest to sleep earlier, after reading Jesse her favorite bedtime story, sitting up against the headboard, unsure if the monotonic motion was for the little one’s, or her own benefit. 

She should have gotten up by now but every time she attempts to move away from in between her sleeping daughters she delays the next steps. She had told herself she had two hours until nine. Now it’s less than fifty minutes until her partner will inevitably show up at her door.

Reluctantly Rollins moves in between the two small bodies and crawls out of bed and quietly crosses the dark room. The envelope is on the dresser by the front door, looming like a bad omen. Amanda shudders visibly, despite it being warm in the apartment. Crossing her arms above her chest she shuffles her feet towards the dresser, picks up the envelope and drops it on the coffee table. According to her battle plan she grabs a bottle of vodka and a glass. She pours far more than she would under normal circumstances and downs it in one. Preparation and self-preservation is everything, she tells herself. Hopefully it’s going to numb her to some of the lasting effects the pictures will have, make her feel less attacked, more in control of her responses to images she is reluctant to look at. 

For a moment she clenches and unclenches her right hand, physically unable to reach out and get it over with. If she’s being honest with herself, she’d rather not go down this horrific rabbit hole. She needs to know, though. What else there is. To make a conscious decision about the next steps - whatever they will be. 

Drawing in a shaky breath, Amanda decides to just make it quick. She takes the envelope, and fishes for the stack of pictures. She’s tense, sitting on the edge of the sofa, one leg bouncing with nervous energy that needs to be released. This first picture she knows. It’s still as heart wrenching, she still needs to focus really hard on keeping herself in check when her bodily reaction kicks in with its defense mechanisms. She squints her eyes, presses them shut for a moment, trying to block out the horrors Olivia’s maimed body conjures up. Try as she might, she can’t process the cruelty, the bestiality Lewis caught on film. 

Releasing a harsh breath, Amanda puts the pictures down and goes for the bottle, not bothering to fill her glass this time. She takes a swig, then another, her fist closed around the bottle neck in such a firm grip, she thinks she might break it. Despondency spreads within her like poison. She doesn’t know how to do this, but it needs to be done. Trying to disconnect she drums her fist against her thigh three times, then takes up the stack, telling herself she can’t keep holding off. That first harrowing picture is taken off the stack. Amanda instantly wishes she hadn’t done that. She can hardly swallow the shriek that wants out. Her jaw quivers so violently, Amanda thinks she’s going to chip her teeth. 

“God no,” she winces breathlessly, covering her mouth. The image blurs as she keeps gazing at it, trancelike. That bastard branded her like cattle, using a metal coat hanger he had bent into shape. The part he presses onto her skin glows in deep orange, making her wonder how on earth he got it so smoldering hot, it couldn’t have been on the stove. As if that wasn’t sick enough, he’d captured what looks like all-consuming pain on Olivia’s face on film. There’s silver duct tape across her mouth, almost reaching from ear to ear, preventing her from screaming. But her eyes… God, those eyes. The expression in them is chilling to the bone. Amanda desperately wants to do something, anything, to help her. 

They should have checked in with her sooner. She should have  _ known _ something like this was bound to happen. Lewis had had that strange fascination with Olivia from the start. He’d taunted her, played with her. He had looked at her like she was easy prey. In the end they didn’t think he’d be stupid enough to go after a NYPD detective, but God, had they been wrong. Lewis was a sociopath, a man without the slightest of qualms. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t have done. That’s where they have all underestimated him. They should have known.  _ She _ should have known, should have recognized him for the monster he truly was. Instead she had let Liv walk right into Lewis’ trap. No doubt had he planned this meticulously from the moment he first laid eyes on Olivia in the interrogation room. 

Moving on she shudders. This one is a close up of Olivia’s face. Lewis is holding her chin in a firm grip, his fingers pushing into her resistanceless skin. Liv’s eyes are rolled into the back of her head. There is no doubt in Amanda’s mind that she’s hardly conscious. The duct tape is still in place, although loose on the edges, as if it’s been removed and put back on. There are fluids on her face that Amanda recognizes as semen. Her stomach lurches, and if there was anything left in it, she would probably vomit again. 

It’s sickening but more than that Amanda wonders how. The rape kit showed no traces of semen. If Olivia is aware this happened, she didn’t disclose in either of her statements. But with all the drugs and the alcohol, Amanda wonders how much of what she’s been through is either a blur, or not part of Olivia’s memory at all. She sure as hell doesn’t look like she’s lucid in these pictures. 

Amanda flips through the next three, and it doesn’t get any easier. When her eyes settle on the eighth picture, she’s done. For good. There is no way she can psychologically withstand any more than what she’s seen so far. She’s never been one for therapy, but right now she thinks talking to a professional would do her some good. The lines have blurred way too much. She does not look at these pictures like a SVU detective but through the eyes of a friend, a loved one. Someone who cares deeply about Olivia’s wellbeing. This is not something that’s going to benefit her. At all. 

Tucking the pictures back into the envelope, Amanda goes for another drink. The images are as stuck in her mind as wallpaper to a wall. Her imagination is the glue. Tonight she won’t sleep. It may be nearly a decade in the past but those two days they’d searched frantically for Olivia, losing faith with every passing minute they’d possibly find her alive, are fresh on her mind, just like it was yesterday. She’ll never forget the moment they stood in front of her door, knocking. The very moment it crossed her and Fin’s mind simultaneously, that Liv’s complete radio silence could have something to do with Lewis. Before they busted the door down, Amanda had had an unwholesome moment of premonition, and yet she had been entirely unprepared for the condition Olivia’s apartment was in. Upon first glance it seemed nothing was where it belonged. Furniture was up-ended, cabinets emptied, their contents scattered all over the place. There was a stomach-turning stench in the air, a mixture of cold smoke, alcohol, sweat, urine, and then something she couldn’t quite put her finger on--until Fin pointed out the pan with keys on the stove, and how it smelled of burned hair or flesh. 

She doesn’t know how they kept it together. Fin, Cragen, Amaro. Munch. Her. 

None of them slept between the time they broke down her apartment door until the time they found her a good 48 hours later. None of them truly believed they would find her in time, but it was an unspoken rule not to voice it, no matter how hopeless the situation seemed. 

The aftermath had been disruptive to all of their lives, wrecking each of them in ways no victim has before. Amaro had been on the ambulance with her. At the hospital it had been Amanda who sat in on most of the rape kit, only leaving the room for the vaginal exam. It was testimony to Olivia’s state of mind that she let a colleague go in with her, allowing them to talk her through it when she knew what every single step entailed. Amanda thinks Olivia wouldn’t even have asked her to leave the room, if she hadn’t offered it herself. She was released from the hospital the next day, gave her statement at the station. When she left, it seemed she had nothing left to give. She was emotionally drained, her body broken. God knows how she sat through hours and hours of giving her statement, answering the same questions over and over and over when her body was littered with blistering burns. 

In the coming weeks they’d all come to work, go home, go to sleep, come to work, go home, sleep, but things as they knew them  _ before _ Liv’s abduction had changed. The heart of the 1-6 was suddenly missing and Amanda in particular wasn’t convinced Olivia’d be back after two months had passed with nearly no sign except the occasional update from Cassidy or Cragen. The messages Liv answered were few and impersonal, if always polite. 

Amanda startles at the knock on her door, pulling her out of her thoughts. Fin’s early, she thinks. She opens the door, let’s him in. His normally so cool facade seems to crumble at just one look at her, although an outsider would never know the difference. She offers him a seat, and the edgy energy in the room seems to tell him that the reason he’s here is serious. The envelope on the table catches his attention and Amanda feels his inquisitive gaze on her. She looks back at him, trying to find a starting point for this conversation, but nothing comes out. 

“Amanda?” He sounds tentative, which is nothing like him. 

“Those are the photos from the photo shop,” she finally speaks, shortly glancing at the envelope between them. 

Fin’s gaze settles on it once more and Amanda anticipates his next step. 

“Don’t.” 

His hand hovers to where he managed to lift it before the word stopped him dead. “Amanda, what’s goin’ on?” 

Releasing a shaky breath, she puts her hand on the envelope, sliding it closer to her and away from Fin. 

“It’s Olivia. In these pictures,” she manages, her throat closing up. “And Lewis.” 

Fin’s eyes narrow, as if he needs to verify what she’s saying. “No. Are you sure?” 

“Am I sure?” she huffs. “Yes, I'm sure. It’s her! And he… she…” The terrible images attack her all at once and she shakes her head vehemently for a couple of seconds. He’s still focused on the envelope and she looks at him. “You don’t want to see that,” she warns. “I can’t let you… for her sake,” she stammers. Then, with more conviction: “You  _ really  _ don’t want to see that.” 

Fin’s face is almost impassive, except the muscle in his jaw twitches briefly. 

“You’re positive?” 

“I’m positive.” She waits for a few seconds, draws in a breath. “I don’t know what to do about this, Fin. There’s… She’s…” She sighs, failing miserably to convey just how horrific these pictures are. Fin, giving her the time she needs, leans in a little closer, almost imperceptibly so. 

“It’s one thing to know what he did to her, but, in the photos, he’s… doing them… he’s… doing them to her,” she pants, her body shaking with tension. “Despicable things. Things,” she keeps going after a moment of hesitation, her voice dropping so low, it’s merely a whisper. “she didn’t disclose in her statements.” 

“If Liv didn’t disclose, she had her reasons.” 

Amanda is not surprised. Fin has always had Olivia’s back, always would. If she thought something was best, he trusted her assessment, no questions asked. She believes he knows her better than anyone else, except maybe Stabler. This however is not as simple. 

“That’s besides the point,” she blurts. “He took pictures and they are right here, and I don’t… I don’t know what to do with this. How do I even begin to tell her that this sick fuck has captured her and his perversions on film?” 

Leaning in closer, Fin looks her straight in the eye. “You ask me? Leave Lewis where he belongs--in the past. Liv’s in a good place right now. You don’t know what this is gonna do, the damage it could cause. She’s happy.” 

“You gotta be kidding. How can you even entertain that idea? She needs to know, Fin. If it was me? I’d like to know. I’d  _ need  _ to know. She deserves to make her own decision on what to do with this. If she wants to look at them, ignore them, whatever. I mean… what if she’s been wondering? I don’t think she’s fully lucid in any of those pictures but...what if she knows he took them?” Amanda can’t imagine that’s the case, she's just throwing ideas off the top of her head. She needs time to think this through, to make it make sense. 

“Liv never mentioned a camera.” 

“If that’s your reasoning, I can tell you she never mentioned a lot of what she should’ve. It just makes no sense,” she mutters into her hands. 

“What doesn’t?” Fin nudges. 

“According to the rape kit, there were no fluids,” she points out, taking a couple of seconds. “According to this,” she points at the envelope, telling a different story. “There should’ve been.” 

“What the hell are you saying, Amanda?” Fin demands dispassionately. 

“I think you know,” she breathes, looking him straight in the eyes. It shouldn’t come as that much of a surprise. Four days. Neither of them had quite believed Lewis hadn’t raped her. In fact, Amanda had been stunned when the rape kit came back negative for semen and spermicide. There had been some mild irritation, but no fluids, no vaginal or anal injuries. 

Maybe Fin was right. Olivia might have told them what she wanted them to believe. She herself knows too well what it means not to want to be seen as a victim, not 

to be  _ defined _ by trauma. 

“Son-of-a-bitch,” Fin curses underneath his breath, looking at her. “Amanda, once you set that ball rollin’...” 

“I know,” she states feebly. 

“What about Stabler?” 

“What about him?” 

“You gonna give the guy a warning?” 

“I can’t do that. I tell him, I might as well tell the entire squad,” she starts, holding up her hands defensively. “I know he’s her boyfriend, doesn’t mean he has the right to know about this unless she wants him to.” 

“You really sure ‘bout this?” 

“No,” she admits. “But there’s no turning back anyway. If they want to pick up their pictures, they’ll find out NYPD has seized them, they’ll put two and two together.” She shrugs helplessly. “I can’t, in all good consciousness, cover this up, Fin. I just can’t. I respect her too much to fuck with something so profound. I know when you say we should leave it you want to protect her. I get that. But it’s not our place. It’s not for us to decide.” 

He hesitates, shifts. “Damn your integrity, Rollins.” 

“I need you to back me on this, Fin.” 

“This isn’t gonna go over well, I won’t guarantee I’ll keep Stabler out of it. I know you’re not fond of the guy, but if we’re doing shit out of respect for her, then let’s respect that he’s going to be the one to pick up the pieces. Not you. Not me.”

“Fair enough.” 

“I still think this is a mistake.” 

“That’s because you’ve never been victimized. Not knowing doesn’t make it undone, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. She needs to know  _ this _ happened. She needs to know these pictures exist and she needs to be the one to decide if she wants to see them, or if she’s better off not looking at them. She never had a choice when it came to anything Lewis did. You let him keep the upper hand by denying her to know. These pictures have belonged in her hands from the start.” 

“I hear ya, Amanda. I just think Liv suffered enough. I’ve known her for twenty-two years. I love her like family. It may not be my place, but I do wanna protect her, especially now that she’s in a good place.” 

“Well, maybe it’s a good thing that she’s in such a good place. She’s not alone, and she’s no longer as vulnerable as she used to be after…”  _ Everything _ , she wants to say, but it hardly encompasses the torment Olivia’s been through. 

“You know Liv. She doesn’t accept help easily. Her not being alone doesn’t mean anything when she shuts Stabler out.” He’s matter-of-fact, but Amanda doesn’t feel like he’s still trying to convince her. 

“He doesn’t strike me like the type who’ll just be shut out,” sneers Amanda. 

“He can be a pain in the ass, but Liv’s not necessarily less stubborn when it comes to keeping herself guarded. You know her.” 

She does, and Fin’s not wrong. Chances are she’s going to shut down. She did it then, they’ve all heard Cassidy whine about how she never told him anything. At least then she had Lindstrom, but it seems that bridge has been burned. 

“I do. But she got help then and we should try and trust that she’ll either accept or actively seek it this time, as well.” Amanda can tell Fin is not so sure, but he nods at her with a good-natured facial expression. 

“Well, how do you wanna do it?” 

There's only a small window of opportunity. Olivia needs to know before they realize their photographs are missing. “I guess I’ll just talk to her tomorrow and make sure she has time before she’s headed home.” 

“A fucking camera,” Fin mutters, shaking his head. “Lewis ever done that before?” 

“Not that we know of. CSU has combed her apartment left and right, up and down, inside-out, Fin. He didn’t want it to be found, at least not by us, not then.” 

“Then why take the pictures at all?” 

It’s something that has crossed her mind before, but she didn’t have the time to dwell on it with the kids’ bedtime routine. There are two scenarios she can think of off the top of her head. 

“I don’t think the pictures were something he planned. He found that camera and was instantly enamored with the idea. He didn’t want us to find the pictures because he wanted to keep us guessing. They tell a story, he didn’t want us to know what all he’d done to her at that point. It thrilled him to know our imagination was running wild. He kept us guessing.” 

“So who was supposed to find ‘em? She didn’t have anybody.” 

“But he didn’t know that. Maybe he could guess that Cassidy wasn’t that much of a steady fixture in her life but he can’t possibly have known whether she had any immediate family? Close friends? Either he intended to hurt those closest to her, or he had no intention to kill her. Maybe he  _ wanted  _ her to live with the constant reminder of him. It was her camera - it makes sense to assume she’d develop that film sooner or later. How was he supposed to know she hadn’t used it years, maybe a decade?” 

“How do you know she didn’t?” 

“That guy at the shop remembered that the camera was a find and they were curious if the film would develop. It also has Stabler’s name on it, so it’s not a random find of some random person. Lewis took the pictures and put the camera back exactly where he found it. She would’ve never known he even touched it,” she thinks out loud, snapping her fingers. “She got rid of pretty much everything in that apartment, if she had known? She’d  _ never _ have taken it. She would have destroyed it, Fin. No way would these pictures ever have seen the light of day.” 

“You think she was that far gone that she didn’t notice him taking pictures?” Once more his eyes travel to the envelope, seemingly not sure if he believes this theory. 

“Obviously I can’t say for sure but judging from what I saw, I think it’s possible. You remember her statement, how much he made her drink? The pills? The drugs? That could’ve been a life-threatening cocktail in itself.” 

“Bastard can be glad he’s already dead,” mutters Fin. 

“Or else you would kill him?” 

“Wouldn’t get the chance. Stabler would.” 

“Why does everybody say that?” Amanda is bewildered. So the guy’s a hot head, what does that say about him anyway?

“Coz’ he would have,” Fin says, looking at her with certainty. “It’s not just talk.” 

Raising an eyebrow, Amanda leans back against the cushions and sourly says, “Well then, too bad he wasn’t around when it counted, isn’t it?” 

XXXXXXXXXXX

It feels like she couldn’t have picked a worse day. Olivia is all smiles and sunshine as quitting time edges nearer. It might have something to do with her having plans with Stabler because she mentioned they were kid-free for the night and anyone with kids knows how rare that is. Liv had inquired about the photo case in the morning. All Amanda managed was that it wasn’t something that needed the unit’s involvement. 

From her periphery she sees Liv is about ready to punch out, gathering her things. It’s now or never, she decides. Fin seems to pick up on the change of the atmosphere in the bullpen, too. His body tenses as their gazes meet. She nods at Fin once, and as if they are both heavily involved in a conspiracy he nods back at her. 

Amanda’s desk drawer rattles as she pulls it out, seizing the envelope. Her throat already closes, her body feels heavy. She stands up and makes her way towards Liv’s office anyway, seeing her sliding her phone into her purse and closing the laptop. 

“Amanda.” Olivia looks at her through thick rimmed glasses. The envelope catches her attention. 

Stepping in, Amanda closes the office door, giving them a moment of privacy. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.” 

Olivia’s eyes narrow, she nearly grimaces. “Can it wait?” 

It can’t. God, she wishes it could. All of a sudden, Amanda feels very nauseous. 

“I’m afraid it can’t,” she shakes her head. 

Olivia does a double-take, putting her purse on the desk. The glasses come off, join the handbag. “Okay.” 

Walking closer, the blonde detective braces herself. “You and Elliot had a roll of film developed.” 

Olivia’s eyebrows almost jump to the ceiling in bewilderment. “Yes. How do you know?” 

As much as she dreads elaborating, she clears her throat and continues on. “The photo shop… they erm… called about your photos.” 

Olivia perks up, her face screwed up in confusion. “The photo… Amanda, I don’t think I understand.” 

“Look Liv, I’m so sorry,” Amanda says, releasing a shuddering breath. The images are right there, in her head, even now as she is looking at Olivia, who swallows hard. 

“I don’t…” 

“Lewis,” Amanda clarifies, fighting against tears, and in an instant the world has changed. Olivia is completely stunned, just staring at her, probably trying to make sense of what she’s saying. As realization sets in, her eyes widen and she takes a couple of steps backwards. She blinks rapidly, shakes her head vigorously. 

“No.” 

“Liv, I’m…” 

“Who’s… has anybody…” 

“Just me,” Amanda assures, stepping around the desk and towards her. Cautiously she reaches out but pauses mid-air, but Olivia pivots, expelling a rickety breath. “Liv.” 

Panting, Olivia rubs her palm across her mouth, then hugs herself tightly, as pale as if she might be sick. 

“Liv,” Amanda tries again. “I thought you needed to know and decide for yourself what to do about it." She puts the envelope on the desk. 

“Elliot?” 

“He doesn’t know but… you should probably talk to him about it. In fact, if you decide to look at them, promise me you’re going to talk to someone. A therapist, Elliot, me, if that helps in any way. Just…” 

“Thanks Amanda,” she sounds detached. “I’d like to… um... you can go?” 

“Are you sure? If you need--” 

“Please,” she winces. 

“Okay.” She fumbles for something more to say, but nothing seems suitable.She heads to the door when Liv refuses to look at her. After a few more moments she decides to leave, feeling utterly crestfallen. 

Fin stands up the second he spots her. She shakes her head sadly. The hint of a frown flits across his face and he sits back down. 

“Go home,” he says after a few moments, rattling the stillness that’s in the air. 

“I can’t now.” 

“Go, Amanda. Be with your girls. I’ll be here until she leaves. I already told Phoebe not to wait up.” 

“This is just wrong. All of this,” Amanda shakes her head, throwing a look over her shoulder. The blinds to Olivia’s office are now drawn. She stalks towards her desk, packs up, feeling so angry and helpless, she holds her breath. 

“Call me?” 

“Yeah.” He waits a beat. “Amanda?” 

She looks up. 

“You did good.” 

She swallows, her voice quivers. “Doesn’t feel that way.” 

“No, it doesn’t.” 


	3. Night-time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3. As I think you can guess this gradually gets harder to write. It’s been a lot of Billie Eilish for this one and I’ve actually listened to her stuff the first time. Once again I have to thank my dear friend Amy. Ames, I love you. Thank you for making this story better, for making me better, for throwing ideas back and forth. 
> 
> Also I am so grateful for the positive feedback Pose has received so far. So now, here we go. Enjoy. 
> 
> Trigger warning for:   
> \- violence  
> \- language  
> \- sexual assault  
> \- rape

Within the next hour the bullpen of the 1-6 empties out. It’s past five thirty and Olivia hasn’t left her office once. There’s a crack in the blinds, and when Fin picks up a cup of coffee he catches a glimpse of Olivia sitting at her desk just staring. For a second he considers bringing her something to drink, asking if she’s all right, but thinks better of it. 

Her office phone rings several times within the next hour, telling him she doesn’t pick up. Fin isn’t in the least surprised when his cell goes off and the caller ID shows Elliot Stabler. He picks up, listens. 

“Hey, Fin. Liv meant to come home a couple of hours ago but never showed. I tried her cell and her office, but she didn't pick up. You don’t happen to know where she is?” Stabler tries to sound steady, casual.The guy is worried, that’s for sure.

Liv still hasn’t shown, and he doesn’t think she will anytime soon. Leaning back in his chair, Fin sighs, deciding to make a judgement call. Olivia needs someone. She can’t hole herself up in that office all night, alone with these pictures and her memories. Plus, if it was Phoebe? He’d need to know if she wasn’t well. 

“Actually, I do.” He gets up, solely to get another glimpse at Olivia. It seems she hasn’t moved at all. “She’s at the office and you should be here, Elliot.” 

“What happened?” Not what’s going on. Not is she all right. It’s like Stabler knows something happened.

“Just get here.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

He was freshly showered when he got off the phone with Liv earlier, now he arrives in a sweat, almost bursting through the doors of the 16th precinct. The bullpen is deserted except for the one person he expected, and he’s going to fucking throttle him for hanging up without an explanation as to what the hell is going on. 

“Where is she?” He doesn’t expect an answer, he knows she’s in the office and he’s headed for it with determination in his strides. 

“Stabler, wait.” 

“The hell,” he mutters, but the other man is on him.

Fin’s tone is growing much more serious. “Wait.” It seems to do the trick, he stops dead in his tracks, although the worry is radiating off of him in hot waves. 

“What?” 

It takes Fin several seconds and one failed attempt at finding a starting point before he cuts right to the chase. No pussyfooting. “SVU got a call about the film roll you developed. Liv’s in them.” He waits a beat, trying to keep his face impassive. “Lewis took ‘em.” 

For a moment Elliot is still. The last sentence echoes and echoes. He tries to process the revelation, tries to process what it means. 

“What kind of pictures?” he asks, feeling almost numb. When Fin doesn’t answer, his voice cracks upon the second try. “What kind of pictures, Fin?” 

“I haven’t seen ‘em but Amanda’s… it’s not good,” he says apologetically. “Sorry, man.” 

“Fuck.” It comes out ferociously and he can’t think straight all of a sudden. His throat is tight with emotion. “Is she… how… how did she take it?”

“As you’d expect. Look man,” Fin reaches out, tentatively grabbing Elliot by the shoulder. “She needs you now. Just… go and be there for her.” 

He nods, sucking in a deep breath while pressing his thumb and pointer finger against his closed eyes, trying to get a grip. “Okay. Okay,” he mutters to himself. He allows himself the luxury of thirty more seconds to prepare himself for whatever is waiting behind the office doors. 

Fin lets go and returns to his desk. “I’ll give you some privacy. It’s late anyway.” 

“Thanks,” he manages despite the lump in his throat. He makes his way to Liv’s office, taking slow steps to buy time. He knocks twice, gently, hoping he won’t startle her as he opens the door just enough to reveal who it is. “Hey,” he says softly. She doesn’t even look up. Her gaze is fixed on her desk. “I’d like to come in, is that okay?” 

A few moments pass. When Elliot almost doesn’t expect her to answer Liv nods her head just barely. Tentatively he steps in, closes the door, before trying to assess the situation. 

There’s an envelope on the desk, right in front of her. He doesn’t think she has opened it, but he can’t be sure. Her body is rigid as she sits with her hands in her lap. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t pick up,” she says hoarsely. 

“That’s okay.” He walks closer, slowly, giving her time to adjust to the fact he’s here, scared she could change her mind and ask him to leave. 

“You know?” She looks up at him now, and he’s never seen her so fragile, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. All he wants to do is pull her into him, hold her tight and tell her it’s going to be okay. 

“I know.” 

She presses her eyes shut as he whispers his confirmation, tears sliding down her cheeks. 

“Liv,” he winces, taking a few more steps towards her. The envelope looks untouched. Somehow it’s a relief. “Listen, you don’t need to look at them. You don’t have to go back there.” 

“Don’t I?” She takes a ragged breath. “It’s not like I can pretend they don’t exist.” 

“How about we take a break. Get some fresh air, okay? And you take all the time you need to think about what you need to do.” 

She seems to contemplate this, wipes at her tears and nods. “Okay.” 

“Maybe grab a bite? You must be hungry.” 

“I can’t eat.” 

“Fair enough.” He watches her get up and helps her into her jacket. She picks up the envelope, tucks it into her massive purse. She doesn’t seem to feel much like talking, which is okay as long as she tolerates him being there at all. He’d rather have her silence than leave her alone with this. “Let’s go,” he says softly, gently guiding her towards the door with one hand on the small of her back. 

She stops abruptly. “Is anybody still there?” 

“We’re alone,” he assures. 

“Okay,” she says, subdued, but allowing him to usher her out.

They end up going to the roof. Elliot thinks it’s the safest place to take her. There’s nobody there to see them, hear them. The evening chill crawls beneath his skin, despite the leather jacket he’s wearing. The sun starts to vanish behind one of the city’s buildings. 

Olivia is mute next to him, steps towards the railing. He stays right where he is, giving her some space, although even the smallest amount of physical distance worries him. It feels like as long as he can touch her, make contact, he’ll be okay. But this is not about him and his needs. It’s all about Olivia. The biggest mistake he can make is pester her. 

This afternoon they had talked on the phone and she was light then. Playful. He’d made a joke about how he’d managed to get rid of both kids, as if their children were mere things and she had laughed before intrigue got the better of her and she’d asked who they’d be staying with. She’d flirted heavily once he’d heard the office door fall shut and it has almost blown his mind to visualize her, Captain, in tight slacks and that easy-to-discard blazer, in her goddamn office, very effectively working him up by dropping her voice to the point it was sultry, asking him if he had anything specific in mind to spend that time. 

He’d made reservations at a nice restaurant. Olivia cares about good food these days and he’s still getting used to her gusto for wine, Cabernet in particular. He hasn’t seen her sip on a beer once in the past year. Anyway, the place had a decent wine list that he knows she would’ve appreciated, and they’ve never had a proper date night. He’d wanted to surprise her, pamper her, thinking she’d like that. In fact, he had a feeling they both needed it - some time just the two of them, that wouldn’t be spent on the sofa with at least one kid in the next room. 

It all seems so absurd now. 

He hesitates to say something, opens his mouth a few times. Ultimately he decides to leave it up to her to speak, whenever she’s ready. If she’ll even speak. 

It occurs to him that they have never talked about Lewis or anything that happened in particular. His inhibition threshold concerning her abduction and the subsequent hell he knew Liv went through had been skyhigh from the moment he’d first seen her again after all these years. Of course it has been mentioned. By her. By him. Surface stuff. She’d told him it was horrible, he’d apologized for he wasn’t there, avowed he should’ve been. He’d said it with as much conviction he could muster, trying to instill some kind of belief in her that he’d never leave her side again. Silently he’d vowed he’d never let anything happen to her again, nobody would get to her like Lewis did. 

And now here they are and that sick bastard is right here with them--in her purse. In her head. Under her skin. 

Fucking hell. 

He watches as she crosses her arms, wrapping them around herself, tucking her chin. The autumn chill bites when there’s wind gusts but it doesn’t seem to occur to Liv to zip her jacket. The amber sky turns dark and they’ve stood here, quite literally motionless, for an hour as her voice permeates the damped noises of the city by night. 

“For the first couple of years I never felt quite clean.” 

Her body shivers, making him wonder if it’s from cold or from whatever she’s going through right now. He restricts himself to listening, although there’s a profound impulse he feels to speak, to reassure her. Giving her time was right as is staying silent, the proof is here and now. 

“The scars, the-” She shakes her head, her voice cracks. “He marred my body in ways I didn’t think were possible.” 

She’s so quiet, the words a strained whisper, he slowly edges nearer to catch them. 

“You’d think the scars are the worst of it. They must be, right? They must be because they are visible and every day they remind me but what’s worse was-,” she pauses for an impossibly long time to the point Elliot is convinced this is all she can give him. He’s just a step behind her now and stops dead when he sees her shoulders tense. 

“I could still smell his breath, feel it in my face.” The last word comes out harsh. “On my body. His… spit, his sweat. And even when he was dead,” for a moment she sounds almost casual. “I’d feel his blood trickling down my face. His brains in my hair.” The breath she takes rattles the quiet. “It got better eventually. I’d quite literally started to feel I can wash him off--for the most part. Every now and then I’d feel how he stained me. It’s a little bit like you know you smell sweaty and you hope nobody will notice but you don’t have the means to shower, you don’t have a change of clothes. It was uncomfortable but bearable because at the end of the day I knew I had the means to shower, I could help myself to block him out. And for years now I’ve felt ...mostly clean. But now?” 

He’s not quite sure if speaking up is right, but gently he nudges, hoping she won’t close down. “How does it feel?” 

“He’s all over me,” she erupts and sniffles hard. “I don’t know how to… this time…,” she cries openly. 

Her candor surprises him. He’d hoped she’d give him something, but he is unprepared for how much she trusts him with. He doesn’t know what to say, though. How to reassure her, how to not spook her. 

“How does he always come back and get to do this to me? Why am I not good enough at keeping him in that goddamn grave he put himself in?” 

That must be what it feels like to her. That even from the grave he reaches out, grabs her, doesn’t let go. 

She turns her head to look at him now. Her eyes are full to the brim, and it shatters him. Slowly he reaches out, touches her shoulder, expecting her to flinch. She doesn’t. Instead she turns a bit more into him and allows him to pull her close against him. 

“This is not about you not being good enough or failing, Liv,” Elliot says tentatively into her hair. “That’s all him, not you.” In his arms, she bristles. 

“Even then, it’s working. I’m right back… there.” 

“You’re here,” he says, trying to change her perspective. 

“Physically, but not here,” objects Olivia, tapping her pointer finger against her temple. She sounds despairing, like if he still has that power over her after all these years, all hope must be lost. Like he’ll stay forever, taking residence in a fixed corner of her mind, rent-free. 

He takes hold of her hand, finding it cold. 

“You’re freezing. Maybe we should go home.” Hers, his, doesn’t matter. The main point is that she can get warm and physically comfortable.

“No. I’m not taking this… I can’t…” 

“You can’t what,” he presses, wrapping his hand around her fingers. 

“I can’t take him home.” 

Elliot swallows. He’s an idiot. It makes sense that she wouldn’t want to be in her apartment while she feels like he’s wrapped around her, like she’d introduce him to the place that’s meant to be a safe space and sanctuary. Over the course of the night things might change but right now she’s in a state of crisis. 

“You’re right. But you are cold, and I think we should go somewhere a little warmer. Can you get down with that?” 

Grabbing her shoulder her torso seesaws as she nods. “The diner, maybe.” 

He’s surprised but he’ll take it. It won’t be too crowded this late, although he doubts she’ll want to talk much more, anyway. Maybe he’ll get her to eat something if he plays it smart, even if it’s just a bite. 

“The diner it is.” 

XXXXXXXXXXX

“Do you want some coffee? Tea?” 

She’s got her arms on the tabletop, holding her elbows, looking at the corner of their table like in trance. Again. 

“Liv?” 

“No, thanks,” she mutters. “Not hungry.”

He spares her the awkwardness of pointing out that’s not what he asked, deciding he’ll just go with the coffee. You can never go wrong with caffeine. When the waitress stalks over, Olivia doesn’t even look up. He’s extra friendly as he places their order. A burger with a side of fries for him. Coffee, black, for her. 

“What about you, hun?” The waitress asks kindly. 

Olivia blinks rapidly, looks up at Elliot, seemingly lost. 

“She’ll have the coffee,” he clarifies. “Thanks.” 

“All right. Coming right up.” When she’s gone, Olivia relaxes visibly. 

“Thanks.” 

“What for?” 

“Coffee,” she says through thin lips, then clears her throat quietly. “Coffee sounds like a good idea.” 

“I thought so.” 

“I mean because it-,” she sighs, worrying her bottom lip. “I don’t think I can sleep. Nightmares,” she clarifies. 

Elliot’s perplexed by how blunt she is about this, how clearly she communicates what she can or can’t do, what she needs. The most he’d expected a couple of hours ago was repeated claims of: "I’m fine." At the same time he’s worried over her reluctance to sleep. 

“You still get ‘em a lot?” he asks casually. 

“Not really. Under normal circumstances.” 

And this, they both know, is as far from normal as it gets. 

“Anniversaries are tough most years.” She snorts then, and it’s a ridiculous sound. “Duct tape, too. Sends me spiraling sometimes. I can’t touch it. Random as hell, I know.” 

“Good to know. Anything else?” 

She looks at him as if asking: “Really?” He nods.

“Vodka can trigger flashbacks, doesn’t always, but…” She shrugs. 

There’s a wistful expression on her face, like she longs for things to be normal. He can tell she’s trying to detach from the fact she’s carrying pictures Lewis took of her around in her purse. If talking, even about her fears and triggers, helps? He’ll gladly talk the whole night through. A small part of him is hopeful she’ll decide not to view the pictures. 

“I handle all that quite well but--” she takes a deep breath, glances at her purse. “This is different.” 

“It’s gonna be bad,” Elliot presumes. 

“Yeah,” she says hoarsely. 

“Okay. But Liv, you need to sleep eventually.” 

“I know,” she winces. “I’m really just hoping that the more time I have to think about it, and accept I will get the night terrors… maybe they won’t be as bad.” 

“Did that ever work?” 

She glances away, the expression on her face says  _ busted _ . 

“I didn’t know.” 

“Didn’t know what,” Elliot prods. 

“That he took pictures. Ever since Amanda told me I’ve been thinking. I’ve gone over it again and again, and I can’t… He knocked me out a few times, I mean… maybe…” 

Elliot concludes, “You don’t know what’s on them.” 

“I mean, it can’t be  _ that _ bad, right? I’ve been there, what’s to shock me, except the fact he actually took pictures?” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than him. Ultimately she doesn’t believe it, because once more there are tears in her eyes. She unfolds one arm, props her forehead on her hand. Her chin quivers. 

“I don’t know, Liv,” he says honestly. He reaches across the table, takes her hand. “I’m not sure we need to find out.” 

“Not we, but I do.” The message is clear. She doesn’t want him to see them. 

“I don’t think you should do this alone, honey.” 

Her next words are a bite. “You think I would want you to see me like that? Or  _ anyone _ ? You have no idea what-” Abruptly she stops, realizing she’s been raising her voice. 

“I don’t think that. And trust me, I’m not keen to see them, but I’d still rather do that than leave you alone with this. You were there once, and I wasn’t there. I won’t let that happen again, Olivia.” 

“It’s just pictures,” she almost hisses.

“That’s bullshit.” He’s angry now. “That’s bullshit and you know it,” he repeats, calmer. Even if the pictures aren‘t a total nightmare, they both know what they stand for, that whatever‘s on them, it‘s going to drag the past back up. He understands she doesn’t want anyone to see them. Jesus fucking Christ, she’s always been lion-hearted and strong, but this is not the time for her to prove how much more she can take. From his periphery he sees their waitress sauntering over with their food and drinks. She slides the burger and fries towards Elliot, places the steaming cup in front of Olivia. 

“Enjoy.” And off she goes. 

“I can’t do this.” All of a sudden Olivia looks a lot more vulnerable. Her voice is back to small as she slides out of the booth. 

“Liv, no. Wait. Please.” He should have known better than to raise his voice and go head to head with her. His hand shoots for his wallet as she pivots, muttering that she’s gotta go. He tosses a twenty on the table, grabs his jacket and is right behind her just as she opens the door. 

“Elliot, please,” she says defeatedly once they are outside. “I just need…” 

“I can’t leave you alone.” 

“Yes, you can,” she looks up at him, her eyes tear-filled. 

“No,” he says, his voice emotion-filled. “Don’t you understand that I really can’t? I know what this is going to do to you.” He touches her elbow, trying to make contact, see if she will allow him to guide her somewhere that’s not the open street. 

“Please,” she says, sounding frantic. 

“Liv, honey-” 

“I’m going to have...I'm going to have a fucking anxiety attack. Can you just-” she burst out, taking a few steps back. 

She’s shaking like a leaf. Elliot doesn’t dare to close the distance, consumed by guilt that he didn’t consider this. That he thought she was shutting him out. 

“Okay. I’m sorry.” He holds both hands up, showing her he’s backing off. “Just try to breathe, Liv. Okay? Can you do that?” 

It looks like she’d rather walk away from him but she remains right there, standing in her spot. A few seconds and she attempts to take a deep breath, then another. 

“That’s right. Slow, deep breaths.” A few more and he can see the tension seeping from her body. “Better?” 

Olivia nods. He keeps giving her space. Some color returns to her face. 

“I’m sorry,” he offers. She blinks. Tears roll down her cheek, and then she crumbles. 

She cries. He steps into her personal space, thinking she’s going to retreat. Instead her body slumps into his, and Liv sobs into his shoulder. 

“Shhh. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, pulling her impossibly closer. “Let’s go inside, Liv. Let's get you inside.” 

He doesn’t care either way, for all he knows it’s good that she finally cries it out. But she will be embarrassed to have broken down in the middle of the street, right across from the precinct on top of it. 

She nods, sobs still shaking her body. He turns her so she can walk but still be sheltered by him as they cross the street. Before they enter the police department he allows Olivia a moment to gather herself. They take the elevator to the floor of the 1-6, enter through the double doors. The bullpen, unsurprisingly, is still deserted. It’s going to be a very long night. 

“Can I get you anything?” 

Olivia belatedly shakes her head no and disentangles herself from his arm, headed for her office. He feels absolutely terrible. More than that he’s lost, unsure what to do and how to be what she needs. She’s started to open up to him, that’s something. But he’s scared that it’ll stop here and now, that she can’t take his presence anymore, doesn’t want it. 

To his astonishment she leaves the door to her office wide open. He sighs a breath of relief but decides not to follow immediately. Instead he makes his way over to the tea kitchen and starts making coffee. She’d deemed coffee a good idea earlier and for a moment he has something to do that won’t make her feel cornered. He puts the coffee in a thermos and grabs two cups before he walks into the office, finding Liv standing by the window. It looks like her purse was haphazardly tossed on the desk. Her jacket is draped across the back of the chair. 

Although her back is to him, he knows she’s wiping away tears when she lifts her hand, wondering if his being in the room makes her want to appear extra together. 

“Is there anything I can do?” 

She chokes out a sound and shakes her head once again. “No.” 

“Would it help if I held you?” It’s like he’s crossing off a goddamn list, trying to figure out how he can help her. 

“Not right now,” she weeps, her shoulders sagging, her voice much more raw than a few minutes ago. He can hardly bear how fragile and forlorn she is. Suddenly this small office is much too spacious for his liking. He wants to be closer to her but doesn’t dare take a step towards her when she’s so clearly signaling that she needs space. 

“Okay,” he says and waits a few seconds. “I’ll just sit here then.” There’s a small sofa against the wall that he eyes like it’s the enemy but once he sets the thermos and the cups down, he makes his way over. And he waits, crippled by the all-consuming feeling of futility. 

He wants to believe that as long as he’s here with her, nothing can hurt her. But she  _ is _ hurting, and there’s not a damned thing he can do to stop it. He wants to hold her, envelope her in his arms. He wants to bestow her with love and patience, however much she needs to let him be part of this detrimental process she’s undergoing, because he’s not going to go anywhere. Not tonight. Not ever. 

Her body is wrecked by silent sobs now, and somehow that’s even worse than hearing her cry. She’s trying so, so hard to keep them in, he can hardly take it. There’s no getting comfortable on the sofa but he doesn’t dare move away from it. 

For ten or five minutes or maybe forever, she cries and cries, and then he can’t take it anymore. He’s over before he can stop himself and whisks her into his arms, holding her tight. Tension is instantly melting away, and she’s almost going limp against him before she latches on to him. 

“It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here.” He tells her this over and over, until she calms down, only hiccupping every now and then. When it comes to her emotions, he suspects they're all over the place. One minute she’s talking about her triggers, almost casually so, the next she is crying puddles, crying so hard, it’s utterly heartbreaking. 

“You are so strong, sweetheart.” 

“Right,” she scoffs watery. “I’m a blubbering mess.”

“Crying is not a weakness. Showing emotions is not a weakness.” 

“You made a great catch,” she manages sarcastically, her breathing pattern only just evening out. “First the hideous scars, now all the baggage this shit will drag up.” 

“Hey, hey,” he says, sounding serious. “We’ve talked about this. In fact I recall how you told me that this is not a way we talk about your body. Ever.” With we, he obviously means ‘you’. 

“Oh come on, they are. You can’t possibly think otherwise. I told you that so you wouldn’t be worried about how I see myself.” 

“You can’t do this to yourself, Liv. I know it can’t be easy, the self-love thing, accepting the scars every day anew. You told me you are getting there and you’re…” 

“I am. Was. I… mostly.” 

“And right now you’re not in a good headspace, so this isn’t something you should be talking about. And neither will I, because there’s nothing to gain here. The only thing I’ll tell you is that you are gorgeous. And now we’re going to sit down, and you’ll have something to drink. Some water. Then, if you need, coffee.” 

She doesn’t object, which either means she’s too tired to do this, or she's actually allowing herself to be taken care of. At least for now. He’ll gladly take it. She drinks the glass of water he gets her in tiny sips. Her hands are a little shaky, which he attributes to exhaustion. Her eyes are puffy, and her mascara has left traces all over her face. Still, she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on.

When she’s finished, he takes the glass from her, and when he sits down next to her, she surprises him by leaning into him, snuggling up to him on the small couch. 

“Tired?” 

“Hm-hm,” she agrees. “Can you just… talk to me?” 

“What do you wanna talk about?” 

“Anything.” 

“Anything,” he repeats, trying to think of something light. “Well, Eli seems to have taken a liking to your cooking. He asked if we were gonna be over for dinner again soon…" 

“Long live the cooking channels on YouTube. He starting to get used to this? You and me?” 

It’s been a little tricky when his youngest first, rightly, suspected he and Olivia entered relationship territory. Of course it didn’t come completely unexpected, Eli isn’t the first kid struggling with a parent dating someone else for the first time. 

“I think so, yeah,” Elliot says around a smile, starting to stroke Olivia’s arm. “It actually was his idea to bring Noah along to Maureen's for the night. They wanna go to the movie theatre tomorrow.” 

“Let me guess? Transformers?” 

“Of course. How do you know?” 

“He mentioned it a little while ago. I’m glad he’s coming around.” 

Elliot knows she’s worried about it quite a bit, even though he’d reassured her that all it would take was some time.

“I’ve talked to him about it, and he said it was weird, and came so sudden.” It makes sense. He didn’t have half a lifetime to get used to the thought. 

“And I thought we were taking it slow.” 

“We were. But he just noticed that something had changed. All of a sudden we were on the phone more, spent even more time together. I started to stay nights.” It was innocent, he’d stayed over months before they even started having a physical relationship, but his son didn’t know that. And in the end he was spot on, things had changed and progressed from friendship to romance. “Also? He’s, and I quote,  _ like super grossed out _ at the thought I have a girlfriend at my age.” 

“Bet’cha that’s not the part he’s grossed out about.” She tilts her head up, amusement showing on her face. 

“Bless Noah and his total innocence.” 

“Count your blessings, Eli’s gonna corrupt him sooner or later,” she jokes. “Not too soon, I hope.” Then: “God, do you think Noah knows what sex is?” 

“Probably has a basic idea at this point. If not, give it a year.” 

“Great,” groans Olivia. 

“But nice that you think my son’s gonna corrupt yours,” he smiles. “Doesn’t sound like you’re planning to get rid of me anytime soon.” They didn’t talk about the future yet, just taking it day by day, week by week. 

At this Olivia takes Elliot’s hand, mindlessly starts playing with his fingers. 

“You know I want this, right?” she asks him. “Us? This relationship?” 

“Yeah, I know,” he says softly, placing a kiss in her hair. “Sometimes it’s good to talk about it, though.” 

“Since when are you so big on talking, El?” 

“Since I want to make this work,” he says sincerely. It seems this renders her speechless. For a long moment Liv studies his face, her fingers still. 

“Is that something you want? For us to talk about… us? Where this is going?” 

“To be honest, I think I’d like that, yeah.” 

“Okay.” 

XXXXXXXXXXX

Try as he might, there is no getting comfortable on this couch, least of all in this awkward position he’s taken, with Olivia entangled in his arms. Her legs are bent and pulled up. She must have dozed off fifteen or so minutes ago. It’s getting harder for him to keep his eyes open, too. Ten more minutes to midnight. His back is starting to kill him and he really needs to use the restroom. It’s impossible for him to get out from under Olivia without waking her, though, so he gently starts to stroke her arm, slow up and down motions. 

“Hey, Liv,” he mumbles, his voice a little rough with fatigue. 

She stirs, mumbles something unintelligible. 

“Come on, we should head home. It’s late.” 

At this she takes a deep breath, exhales and slowly sits up while rubbing her face. 

“Did I fall asleep?” 

“Yeah. Listen, it’s almost midnight. You’re beat. Let’s just go home.” He feels her hesitancy before he sees it settle on her face. In an attempt to reassure her, he puts a hand on her thigh, rubbing his thumb over her pants. “We have to go home at some point, Liv.” 

“You’re right, you’re right,” she breathes and clears her throat from sleep. 

“I need to use the bathroom, you get ready.” He rubs her thigh before he gets up and vanishes. 

By the time he’s back, Olivia is wearing her jacket, her purse draped over her right shoulder. They take a cab home to her place. Without further ado they head to the bedroom, foregoing the nightly bathroom routine. He’s out of his pants and shirt quickly, whereas Olivia seems to stall. 

“What is it?” 

She shakes her head just barely but turns away from him before she pulls her blouse off over her head. It stands out, because she’s never once done that. 

“Liv.” Elliot steps closer, puts a hand on her shoulder and she inhales sharply. “Don’t do this. Don’t start hiding from me now.” 

“I’m not trying to-,” she starts but her voice almost cracks, and she pauses briefly. “I just don’t feel comfortable right now.” 

“You shouldn’t give him that power, honey,” Elliot places a single kiss on the nape of her neck. She doesn’t tense. In fact her shoulders drop a little in what he interprets as relaxation. A few seconds later she pivots, looking uneasy. 

“It’s… it’s just hard right now.” 

“I get that, but I don’t want things to be different between us.” He grabs her night shirt from underneath the bedding and holds it out to her. 

“We’ve never talked about what happened, I mean we did but not-,” she shrugs and swallows. “Not really. And now Lewis is like this big elephant in the room, and I'm...I'm back in that place and...insecure.” 

“Okay. Insecure about what, though?” 

“I don’t know. That’s just the thing, I don’t know, it’s not rational. Maybe that you’ll look at me and see something else?” 

“That’s never gonna happen, Liv. I see  _ you _ . And if you feel you want to talk about what happened, if it’s tonight, tomorrow, next week, in ten years from now? I’ll listen. And even then nothing is going to change how I see you. I look at you, and I see thirteen years of us. And then years in which we’ve been apart and have both changed and grown. Lewis doesn’t get to have that. He’s completely irrelevant to our history, to why I fell in love with you.” 

As she listens to him her face contorts. Elliot thinks she must go through ten different emotions within seconds. 

“Let’s just go to bed,” she says, too quiet for his liking, as she takes off her bra and slips on the shirt. 

This is probably it for tonight, Elliot muses. They talk, grazing God knows how many subjects, but most of what they discuss only scratches the surface. No conversation runs deep. It occurs to him that it’s pretty much every conversation they ever had, and he’d like that to change. She’s opening up in bits and pieces, and he’s so, so grateful for that. At the end of the day he wants more, though. He wants to get this right. 

Olivia slips into bed next to Elliot and wordlessly gravitates towards him, as she always does when they share a bed. She’s warm but shivers, so he pulls her closer and rubs her arm for warmth. 

“Hey,” she whispers after a moment. 

“Hey,” he whispers in return. 

“Can I ask something?” 

“Of course. Anything.” 

“Have you ever wondered about us not… working out? In the long haul?” Her voice is impossibly small. 

“Where’s this coming from?” 

“Last week I had that dream that… we decided to separate. I don’t even remember more than that, just that… and I… all I could think was how I’ve always… and with you…”

He’s listening, his thumb encouraging her with gentle strokes to keep going. 

“I am so scared to lose you.” 

“You’re not gonna lose me. Not a chance. Why would you even think that?” 

For a few beats, she waits. “I feel like I complicate things. Constantly. Not willingly but like now--I know I’m saying irrational things, I’m doing irrational things, I’m thinking all these irrational thoughts-” 

“And none of that is your fault.” 

“Elliot, let me… let me say this.” 

“Okay. Sorry.” 

“This relationship stuff is so, so hard for me sometimes. I’m not the most open person, and I’m scared to talk about things, some of them just small things, because I tell myself ‘don’t rock the boat. It’ll work itself out. You might create a problem or you might make it bigger and blow it out of proportion’,” she admits into the dark. “I don’t know myself like that because I was never before so emotionally invested. I have this absolute terror of messing this up again, because I always did. Only, then, it was a price I was willing to pay. It isn’t now.” 

“Can I say something?” He asks his lips moving against Olivia’s forehead. She simply nods in agreement. “You’ve used the word irrational, and this right here is an irrational fear. You say you’re not the most open but you are opening up right now. And if that’s a process, then that’s okay. Liv, we have all the time in the world to figure this out. But I can tell you I am not going anywhere. I’m here and I’m in this two hundred percent. And to answer your question: Of course I thought about this going wrong. But at the end of the day? I don’t think it will. We took our time, and I believe that both of us, individually, have thought this through. If this is really what we want, if it’s where we want to be together. I know for sure that this is it.” He envelopes her in his arms, places a feathery kiss in her hair. “I want to be right here. With you.” 


End file.
